


Out of the Ordinary

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cookies, Domestic, Elf!Clint, Feelstide2016, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Prompt36
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: AU where Phil opens his door on Christmas Eve to find a grumpy Christmas elf sitting on the hallway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time joining! I hope you like! I'm a bit rusty in this fandom. Huhu FORGIVE ME for work has been HELL. :(( I love you all that still keep the Clint x Coulson fandom alive!

 

Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.

Rather, it _should be_.

It’s fortunate that the holiday comes so near the end of each year. People would lose their shits if it comes any earlier. A day before Christmas and still people flooded the streets of Manhattan like ants, all looking for last-minute gifts. It must suck to be the one forgotten.

A man trudges through the crowd, pulling his trench coat tightly around him. His flushed cheeks peak from the edges of the thick scarf around his neck. A pair of glasses go askew after a shoulder jostles. In anyway one looks, in every single manner, he looks like a clueless middle-aged man who got duped into working Christmas Eve overtime.

Maybe he is that gullible.

The locks on his apartment door are old and clunky. It turns with an eerie squeak that would put lesser demons into a frenzy. Three years in New York, and he’s still living the same rundown building. It may not be a white picket fence in the suburbs but, to him, it’s home.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck!?” A voice thunders in the hallway, “Why’s nobody puttin’ oil in that thing, huh? It’s not freaking _hard_!”

Phil stops dead in his tracks, half-way in the door with his hand still resting on the handle. He’s seen a lot of things during his time at SHIELD but a real-life _elf_ isn’t one of them. There’s a man—a rugged man with a nose that looks like it’s been broken a few dozen times—glares at him, or at least the door it not him, as if it’s a personal offense.

“Ehrm, sorry…?”

“The door,” the man emphasized. He’s seated on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, free hand pointing to the offending deadbolt lock. “I’ve been here all day and no one had even bothered to oil the thing. Is everyone in this building deaf or something? It’s like everyone’s lost the basic rule of common courtesy.”

Phil closes the door with another ear-wrenching squeak. In the silence of the hall, it’s nearly deafening if it isn’t for the fact that the door’s been like that since his first year. Nothing’s changed save for the same old unfashionable Christmas décor lining the staircase handles and the plastic wreath hanging on the main door. Every year, whoever decorates the place uses the worn-down ornaments.

The man just so happens to be sitting right in front of his door.

“I’m sorry. Who are you? And, what are you doing in front of my door?”

No answer.

Up close, he can see the peculiarities of the man’s clothes. It’s a fluffy dark green hooded coat that covers the man’s knees. Soft-looking brown leather hunting boots peek from the edges of the cloth. Tuffs of blond hair escape the clutches of the hood. Despite the aggressive demeanor, there’s an odd-sense of vulnerability coming from him—just like a stray cat.

“It’s cold,” he says instead, keeping his voice light. “Do you wanna come inside for some coffee?”

The man shakes his head fiercely.

Phil catches a glimpse of a young face. He decides to change tactics. “You’re right. Who wants disgusting black coffee on Christmas Eve? How about some hot milk and I can bake some cookies for us too?”

There’s a truly remarkable physical transformation after that. The man goes from grumpy cat look-a-like to a youthful blond stranger possessing an almost child-like innocence in his eyes.

“What kind of cookie?”

Phil couldn’t help but smile. “I was thinking of being a little adventurous tonight. How does chocolate chip sound?”

“Like Christmas,” the guy replies, “ehrm… are you sure you want _me_ to go inside?” He glances down, eyes flickering between his dirty boots and the red-orange illuminated hallway of the apartment. There’s a certain look about him that makes him feel even more out of place in the not-so-posh Brooklyn apartment.

A vision of a lost puppy enters Phil’s mind. It’s unfair how a grown-ass man can look so adorable. He must be more tired than he realized—letting a suspicious unknown character into his home. There’s something about him that Phil cannot turn his back to.

“Come on,” he urges with a soft smile. “It’s my grandmum’s recipe. I think you’ll like it.” His footsteps echo through the silent apartment. He holds his breath by the kitchen counter, waiting. A few more seconds and a second pair of feet follow him inside. “Hang your coat on the rack. Shoes by the door.”

Removing his jacket and tie then folding up his sleeves, Phil gets to work measuring out ingredients. He kicks the trashcan full of takeout containers with his legs as he listens to the swish of fabric and clatter of boots while working. Flour’s nearly empty but there’s a big bag of chocolate in the refrigerator. He doesn’t have white sugar so he needs to settle for brown.

“I can help,” a timid voice offers. It’s so far from the blaring tone from earlier. Phil turns, and to his surprise, immediately sees the man’s pointed ears.

“Oh.” He’s seen many things during his tenure in SHIELD but he’s never seen a real-life elf before. “Hello.”

“Ehrm,” the elf ducks his head shyly, “Guessin’ you didn’ notice, huh? D’you want me to get out?”

Something in the tone makes Phil’s heart clench. That’s the tone of someone whose been rejected more than once in his life time. He knows all too well how that feels like.

“Here,” he says, pushing the jar of flour at the elf’s direction with a soft smile. “Can you help me measure this out?”

They work in silence with the tension slowly bleeding out of their shoulders. Phil hasn’t made cookies in years. He’s always been too busy with work—mission report here, op gone fubar on the other, and let’s not forget babysitting eccentric billionaire because no one else wants to do it. It’s been some time since he could enjoy a task as simple as this.

Perhaps, it’ll turn out to be a merry Christmas out of after all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you liked or enjoyed this fic, you should know what to do. **Comment/Kudos/Bookmarks** are always appreciated by this author. :) 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)


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